


Perspective

by Catsayspeh



Category: Dir en grey, Plastic Tree
Genre: Aiji knows everyone, Drinking, M/M, POV First Person, Social Awkwardness, Tatsurou is a terrible guest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsayspeh/pseuds/Catsayspeh
Summary: A little obsession meets a night out drinking and two very different recollections.





	1. Jellyfish Drifting

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my archive of older stories I am moving from Live Journal. This was originally written in 2012. It is one of the only first person stories I have written but it was needed for the way the story is written.

The sudden knock at the back of my head jolts me from the song echoing in my mind, and I reach up, pulling the thick head phones off and look up at the owner of the offending hand.

“hNe?”

Black on white - there is just no other way to explain Tadashi. He’s made up of black on white, and today is no different: dark black eyes on a white pale face as he gives me an awkward smile. Almost everything about Tadashi is awkward: his strange arrangement of limbs, the jutting right angles, the way nothing sits quite right on him, the crisp lines of bleached platinum hair over black fringe which hides his face. But his way of speaking is anything but awkward; he always speaks slowly and clearly.

“I said that they said we are wrapped for the day.”

I look down at the open sheet music on my lap, and I’m not sure why I even had it open. It was most likely for appearances, because I haven’t been doing anything for the last hour but listening to the same cd. I can still hear the almost ghostly haunting sounds just out of range of comprehension as Tadashi mentions a few more technical details which are utterly lost on me. 

He has always been better with that. I on the other hand seem to do nothing but short circuit, rearrange, and break things when I try to help set up the electronics. Long ago I was relegated to public relations, and when we got someone to do that, I was sent out to go stand in the seating and signal when everything looked right. Tadashi grants me a kind smile; he knows I’m a million miles away, and it only takes a flicker down to my badly hidden Ipad for him to know its Kyo again. He’s too kind to say anything. Tadashi has known me long enough to know that I have fits and fixations which last from an hour to years.

Kyo’s reaching the outer limits of passing interest in to obsession. I know of his band, of course - anyone who has ever been in the VK scene or has visited Aiji’s house knows of them. I have met them all a couple of times, but there is always a strange distance, a kind of preoccupation when you come near the lead singer. Kyo has the ability to let you know that he would rather be any place in the world rather than next to you with as little as a flick of his dark eyes through that blond hair. Recently though, those few straining exchanges keep replaying over and over in my head, along with some other images that at this point I’m not exactly ready to admit.

I want to touch him.

Wait, that sounds wrong. I mean I want to put my hands around his throat. 

Wait, that sounds really wrong. I want to feel what it’s like when he sings. I want to feel the way his voice goes from a low growl up in to a sweeping arch of tone which I swear is meant to reach to the very heavens itself. My own voice is small, childish, strained at times when I try to push it too far. 

I have been told too often that I am a “boy”. Staring at the date on my license, I am in a place to argue. 40 is approaching me with the slow roll of a fog sliding in. In fact, the butterflies in my stomach make me feel even more ridiculous because I’m technically older than he is. So why is it that when I’m standing by him, I feel like I’m suddenly back in school staring at an upper classman? Worse yet, it’s not like I can even blame stature, I’m taller than him. Granted, it isn’t by much, but I’m still the taller of the two of us. I’m also painfully aware that when Kyo walks in to a room he fills it with his personality alone. I, on the other hand, usually have to repeatedly ask for people to move over, and get told more often than not that they didn’t see me.

I pack up my stuff and put the headphones back on, and the haunting songs fill my ears again. I walk back to my apartment with my umbrella in one hand, and I sing along with the songs I know by heart. My thick rubber wellies splash in the small pools of water and I hum along to the darkness in the song. 

I am not prepared for the phone call I get later that night. Aiji invites me over to an impromptu party; just a few friends, a movie, and some beer. I know Aiji too well. He doesn’t like to go out and drink; when he does, it’s usually with a few close friends settled on the big sofa in his living room. I don’t really want to go back out, but the other man’s slightly plaintive tones coax me along. After all, I haven’t really gone out to do anything but work in weeks. 

I stop to pick up some beer, and come across something completely ridiculous – a bottle of cherry wine from 1994. I can’t resist it, so I pay for it and the beer and then make my way up to Aiji’s new apartment. It’s a stunning half a block away from the one that he lived in for the last 10 years; Aiji is nothing if not a creature of habit. 

Aiji doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash when I show up at his house in a pair of leggings, shorts, and a too-large shirt. I ditched contacts long ago for my thick framed glasses; it’s a trait we both share.

“Hey Taro kun. Come on in.”

“Taro!”

I look over and smile before my eyes have a chance to focus; it appears I’m the last one over. I can already see Tatsuro in the larger of the chairs - damn it that’s my chair! Although the back of the sofa is facing me, one inked hand shoots up to wave absently. The image I can just barely make out on the screen means the other hand is latched on to a game controller. 

“Hey Die,” I manage to squeak out, doing my best to push down the guilt that I have been spending the majority of the last few weeks letching on his lead singer on YouTube. Well, so much for getting a chance to get Aiji to talk me out of my growing fascination.

I hold up the bottles and make my way in to the small kitchen. I Tetris in the additional beer I have brought among the other six packs and the copious amount of veggies Aiji has taking up space on the shelves. I swear, one day the man’s going to turn in to a full fledged rabbit on me. 

Grabbing the bottle of cherry wine in my hand, I amble back over to the living room, eyes on the screen. It looks like…Mario Kart? I’m too busy watching the game to notice as I move around the side of the sofa that the seat beside Die is occupied until most of my weight has connected with warmth. I drop both the mercifully unopened bottle of wine and my jaw as two hands reach out and grab hold of my waist before I can fall over to the side. I’m already sputtering apologies before I can even look over my shoulder to see who I just unmercifully SAT on. An amused smirk as well as dark eyes stare back at me as I feel the tattooed hands on my waist pull back helping me regain my balance and I drop to sit on the arm of the sofa. 

“Kyo…I’m so sorry!” 

I’m barely in to my apologies before he waves it off. He already has a beer or more in him, and the sting of being unnoticed seems secondary to the arm flapping antics of my discovery. I look around for another place to sit, but Aiji never has very many people over, and the three spots on the sofa are taken up by Kyo, Die, and Aiji. The chair - “my” chair - is currently occupied by Tatsuro. So with another apologetic smile I take a seat on the floor next to the sofa and turn my attention to the screen again.

“So… whatcha got there?”

It’s almost gruff, as if using all the syllables would be too much effort. Kyo leans forward, grabbing the now forgotten bottle of wine and picks it up, taking great interest as he reads over it and chuckles a bit looking over at me. 

“Romantic.”

I stammer. My first thought is that he’s commenting that I bought it for Aiji, but after a moment of my deer-in-the-headlights look, he clarifies.

“Cherry wine… it always seems so romantic.” 

He then pulls out a set of keys and sets to carving the foil off of it with what is most likely his house key. I’m slowly becoming aware that no one is really saying anything, and that most of them are staring at me as I offer up a soft smile.

“Oh yeah uh… it seemed so 1990’s… I figured for nostalgia.” 

The thought seems to strike them all with agreement as the mood resettles. Tatsuro bitches loudly as Die cuts him off, and Aiji just chuckles as he watches them. Kyo seems remarkably detached from the entire scene. as he is now focused entirely on getting the bottle open.

“In the kitchen, second drawer,” Aiji comments off handedly as the younger man gets up and makes his way to the kitchen. There is a clang of utensils and the hollow sound of the wine cork popping free follows shortly after.

This can’t be happening. I can’t spend the rest of the night with my thoughts alternating between wanting to pet over that strong throat and trying to determine how much of a bastard Yoshi is for crapping eggs all over the track.

I hear the clinking of glasses.

I have to get out of here. When I get obsessed I do stupid things: I move before I think, I say too much, or not enough. I still have a half inch line on my finger from the last golden eyed wild animal I tried to befriend. I may be the only singer in the world with an owl-related injury.

I feel my shoulder nudged by a bare foot; it’s Kyo holding out a glass of cherry wine. A few minutes later he’s returned and done the same for both Die and Aiji, leaving only Tatsuro, who declined, and Kyo. He drops down onto the couch with the mostly-empty bottle in his hand, . This time, he doesn’t say anything when his knee rests against my shoulder. The game resumes, and the remotes change hands. the wine is long gone, and so is half of the beer before I dare to look up again for any length of time.

I have been sitting on the floor for so long that the press of the carpet has left a speckled pattern on my hands. I have been leaning back, trying my best not to lose the touch of Kyo’s knee against my shoulder. I may sound like a schoolgirl, but that contact feels like an anchor now, reminding me that this is real, he is here. 

I am slowly working myself up in my head. I want to ask him about the songs or how he’s able to get his voice to do such acrobatics. I think the words over in my head again and again, trying to find the best way to come off nonchalant and not too much like an interviewer.

I’m about to open my mouth when I feel it - a warm, soft pressure against the top of my head. I look over, figuring that Kyo is getting up, but he isn’t. He’s just watching the movie on the television. Movie? When did that happen? I realize I have been so wrapped up in my imaginary script that I have completely missed that they put in a movie. 

Tatsuro is already dissecting it; Aiji seems to just be at peace that no one is yelling obscenities at princess peach anymore. Die seems oddly in to the movie…I wonder if he picked it out?

I feel it again - the warmth just at the top of my head, a soft stroking of the hair their and I realize… Kyo’s petting me. I struggle to not move; the almost laziness of the gesture reminds me of nights spent petting Kuro and watching movies. I have had enough beer to realize that it feels too good to try and stop it, and after a moment I just lean my head against his knee. I expect the petting to stop but it doesn’t. The angle changes a little as I hear Kyo take another gulp of beer. I notice that his feet are small, and calloused the same way mine get – the way that can only result from going barefoot in all weather. I note with a touch of humor that one toe nail is black…most likely, he can be just as “graceful” as I can be at times.

The petting stretches on through the movie. Every so often it stops, and I mourn the loss of the warmth of the touch. But it starts up again a few minutes later. I have to pee, but I really don’t want to move; I don’t want to let this go, and its only after I realize that it would make a worse impression if Ipeed on Aiji’s carpet in a drunken stupor that I get up. I grip the sofa to stand up and amble down the narrow hallway. From what I can tell, Kyo didn’t even notice that I moved. 

I splash water on to my face to sober up, and I look up and realize what a total mess I am. The shirt I have on is four sizes too big, and declares my love for "Titties and Beer", my large glasses cover a face with black ringed eyes that clearly states I have put in too much time in the studio this week. I realize I should have just stayed in, and then I hear a single knock at the door. Before I can say anything, the door swings open and Kyo pushes in beside me as he looks up a bit and smirks.

“Hey.”

I back up a bit and realize by his swagger that he’s had more to drink than I was counting. I realize with a flicker of abject horror that he’s also unzipping his pants and inching me out of the way in the small bathroom to relieve himself. I’m left standing a little stunned, but as I turn to head out the door, I hear with a grunt that echoes concerted effort to both aim and talk at the same time.

“Liked your new CD… You got another DVD out soon, huh? That Budokan show, right?”

I freeze then and realize that he is actually asking me about Pura while standing in the cramped bathroom of Aiji’s two bedroom-one-bath-it’s-only-me-why-would-I-need-more apartment. 

“Oh, uh…yeah. Thanks… It’s going to be out I think in … February…”

“Yeah, it was a good show. Kaoru and I went.”

“Ah… wait. Really?”

I turn around. Apparently, there’s enough beer in me to warrant actually wanting to continue this conversation as the other man finishes up. I pointedly look away as he zips up and washes off his hands. Suddenly, a broad palm claps on the back of my shoulder. 

“Yeah! I love lives. There’s just a lot more emotion in them, don’t you think?”

This was officially more than I had ever heard him talk at any one point - possibly more than I had heard him divulge in the last 10 years that we had been in the same music circles. 

“Yeah.” 

Kyo’s expression was some what quizzical, and I realized I was just standing in the doorway, blocking his way our, and I stepped back, chuckling a bit.

“Sorry… I’m really tired from the studio work and that last beer was probably a bad idea.” 

Checking out his goods was also a bad idea, but I would consider the shame in that at a later point For now, I’m just concentrating on dumbly following him back to the living room, where Die has now thrown an arm around Aiji and is explaining the finer points of …. Is this a Norwegian zombie film?! God, how far out of it was I?

Kyo actually pauses this time and gestures for me to take his seat, and I do. I fold my legs underneath me; it feels good to get off of the floor for a bit. After a moment, the broader man drops down to where I was sitting before and just leans back. I realize now, as my hand reaches out, that he could have easily seen my face the entire time, as I can now see his in profile: his short, almost pugged nose, his full mouth, the rough, thick bleached out hair which falls shaggily against his face. I realize… I would really like to kiss him right now. 

My eyes dart to the two men beside me. Aiji is relaxed and laughing easily with Die as some horrific arterial spray spatters the camera in the movie. I feel something heavy against my knee and realize that Kyo’s leaning against me. I reach out, almost reflexively, and touch his blond hair I feel his body tense for a moment, and I’m expecting him to… to what? Suddenly snap my wrist back? To tell me to fuck off? I’m not really sure, but instead he just lets out a long breath that it seems like he’s been holding for too long and relaxes back against my knee again. I realize it’s kind of a comfortable position, and I like having the other man against me. He’s… quiet.

I run my hand over his hair again and catch a few strands between my fingers. It’s so rough…it feels like Tadashi’s, processed to the bright blond, bleached and rough, but at the same time almost soft. It reminds me of touching a big cat pelt, like a lion. 

He shifts a bit and I realize he’s just changed positions, this time he’s resting his arm against my knee, his head propped against his hands. My eyes drop from the Nazi zombies on the screen to the tattoos which are visible up to the sleeve of his tee-shirt. I have always liked tattoos, always wanted to touch them.

Akira has several, and they always fascinate me. I could never commit to anything that permanent. Well…that, and I hate needles; it was torture enough getting my ears pierced. It never stopped my fascination with them: lip rings, nose rings, tattoos, they’re all so interesting to look at . Almost out of mourning, I look down to my own skinny forearms, pale and lined with the blue veins under them. I reach out then, putting my hand over Kyo’s bicep and trace the patterns there, enjoying the feel of the darker, solid places that are just a little more raised than than the other areas. My thumb finds the smooth, lightly shaded places, and I follow a swirl, noting that the tone of his skin is so much darker than my own, more golden. He’s probably seen the sun some time in the last year, rather than lurking in the studios all night like some deranged musical gnome.

The tattoos are really well done. My fingers slowly move further down over his arm, and I note that they weren’t even greatly disturbed when they were pressed in to the crook of his bent elbow. I felt a strange urge to reach out and lick them; it always amazes me how when tattoos get wet, they become darker. It’s kind of like fabric - suddenly the color is shiny and new again. It’s at that point that I realize that I can feel warm breath on my hand, and I look to the side. Kyo has turned his head entirely and is just watching me, watching my hands slide over his arm. 

I just look back at him then, my eyes widen and then dart to the side. Once again, everyone is essentially staring at me. Well, everyone but Tatsuro, who at this point is snoring. I realize with a very clear moment of sobriety that there is really no playing this one off, and I offer Kyo only a weak smile by way of apology. Kyo is notoriously not a touchy-feely kind of man, and I should have been content enough with just having him lean against me, but oh no - I had to push it further. I shift and itch at the back of my head giving a nervous chuckle.

“Maaaaybe I should get going….” With that, I’m almost crawling off of the sofa. In the process, I nearly hit Kyo upside the head, but so far he hasn’t said anything. I can only be thankful because I’m pretty sure he would have some choice words for me. I stumble back to the door, jam my feet in to the oversized rubber boots, and head out the door. It slams shut behind me, and I walk as fast as my mostly inebriated self can. I know I heard something behind me, but at this point, I’m just hoping that I can get far enough away, and that in a recounting I know that I will hear about, I can blame it all on the wine.

I’m already halfway down the block, heading for my apartment and mentally kicking myself when the dull noise that’s been building since I left the building develops in to an actual voice.

“Fucking Hell! HOLD UP!” 

I turn around, expecting to see someone go tearing past me, but instead, I come to a halt and find that I’m staring at Kyo. The man isn’t half as out of breath as I am, but he doesn’t look happy. I reach up and hold my hands up defensively.

“Look, I’m sorry…. I…I’m drunk, and…I didn’t realize…I…I….”

In the struggle to say something more, he’s grabbed a hold of my wrist and is hauling me back toward the apartment complex. Although he’s not hurting me, the strength of the grip tells me that under no uncertain circumstance is he going to allow me to work my way loose. He hammers on the buzzer, and after the door unlocks, he drags me in to the relative privacy of the closed in foyer. 

“What the hell is your problem with me?”

I know I’m gaping at him, but the question doesn’t register correctly. What’s…my problem with him?

“Wha?”

“Don’t play that cute-ass neverland crap with me, Arimura. You’ve spent all night practically cringing away from me. Even when I went out of my way to talk to you, all you did was walk off. So again, what the fuck is your problem with me?”

I’m pretty thankful at just that moment that I had gone to the bathroom earlier, because if I hadn’t, I would be standing in a puddle of my own piss. An angry Kyo is a terrifying Kyo. 

“Ahh .. Uh..Ahhh.”

I just stand there looking at him; I have no idea what to say. I want to tell him that it’s because he’s amazing, and I’m afraid of insulting him, but obviously that backfired.  
Finally I just shrug and murmur a response.

“It’s…I mean, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The look he gives me implies that I might just be out of my damned mind, but after a second, it levels out to that patronizing look one gives a child who just can’t grasp an idea. He reaches out and grabs my hand again and then pulls me further into the building. He leads me out of the foyer and back up along the hallways.

“I’ll TELL you when I’m uncomfortable.”

Really, it’s only a matter of minutes before I’m back in the apartment. Little has changed, except that now Tatsuro is sprawled over the entire chair, one long leg dangling over the arm. The zombies appear to be winning in the movie now. I realize too late that I’m now standing in Aiji’s living room in my boots as Kyo grunts and drops back down on to the sofa and points at the floor.

“Sit down will you?”

I step out of the boots and set them to the side before I drop back down, almost obediently beside Kyo who seems mad…or irritated. At the very least, he’s put out. Die seems to be unaffected by all of this, as though harebrained singers flapping for freedom was a common occurrence. Aiji has a note of worry on his face, but instead, he just murmurs to me. 

“Taro, maybe you better just stay the night, okay?”

Kyo grunts and then reaches forward to pick up another bottle of beer. I reach out and pick up one myself. I fumble with the cap; it sticks and bites in to my thumb, and I grumble at it.

“Here.”

Kyo grabs the bottle from my hand and hooks his ring against the edge. With a fast movement of his hand, he pops the cap off and hands the beer back to me. When I lean forward to put the lid down, I feel his broad hand on my shoulder. He pulls me back and against him again. My shoulder is against his leg, and I finally give in. This is all just too damn confusing, and I rest my head on his leg. I hum a little bit to my self,; I know it’s off key, but I hear the other man laughing gently. 

I can’t say exactly when I drift off, but when I wake up, I am resting on the large sofa, which is warm and soft. I know I must have dozed off, and judging by the way my ears are ringing, I had to have had far too much to drink. I start to sit up when I feel it tighten against me - a broad, heavy arm pulls me back, and I look down. There is a large hand against the waist band of my shorts. It grips them as I try to move, and then I feel the warmth of someone’s breath against my neck.

I slowly turn my neck as much as I can and look back. Not much light has filled the room, but there is enough that I can make out the rough, blond hair. The blood drains from my face.. Oh crap. What just happened, and why was I curled up on the sofa with KYO? 

I look over to my chair and find Tatsuro sprawled out as I last remembered him, snoring loudly. I shift again, and this time my hand falls off of the sofa and on to something warm. With a jump, I look down to see the curled up form of Die on the ground below me. There’s also a line of beer bottles, which at some point must have been artfully arranged in a single file line all the way around the table rim, and that was a lot of space.

I want to try and sneak out. I can see my boots just at the very edge of my vision, but then I feel the tug again, the soft warmth as the man behind me pulls, settling our bodies back together.

“Go back to bed. You’re not an owl or ectoplasm.” It’s muffled, and sleepy, and only a little bit annoyed.

“What?”

“Taro…just go back to sleep.”


	2. Damned visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fascination and a night of drinking leads to two very different perspectives. Kyo remembers things quite a bit different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from 2012.

There is a certain kind of peace that comes from returning from tour, after the initial exhaustion has worn off; you have restocked the barren fridge. Stopped and had same coffee and bento, which is a symbol of home. All of the calls are made to family, the same four stories told just innocent enough to be told in close company, inappropriate enough that no one accuses you of hiding something. Settled down and you have begrudgingly unpacked clothes you have worn for the last six weeks pretty sure if you never saw them again, it might be too soon. 

The return to the studio was still a few weeks off, and the phone had been for the most part blissfully silent. All that was left to do was finish returning the few emails that were of no great importance, not something I was really looking forward to, so when the phone rang, it was a welcome distraction. A quick scan over the number I knew it was Die, with the tour just completed. I was at about maximum saturation of the whole band. I flipped the phone open maybe a bit more exasperated than I should have sounded.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Sunshine!”

I pause pulling the phone away and look at the phone, checking to make sure it wasn’t Toshiya. No, its Die and he has that irritatingly perky tone, he’s going to drag me in to something I don’t want to do. At this point I’m just too damn tired to really fight it.

“Yeah?”

“Aiji just called up, he’s having Tatsuro and Ryutaro over for beer and video games, he asked us over, says he just got some new horror movies he thought you would like.”

Damn it. Die had me on that…

“Fine, but you’re picking me up”

It was a half grunt as I closed the phone, the advantage was that Die would have to stay at least passingly upright while drinking, I could drink till I was half fish. The thing about going over to friends was that it doesn’t matter if you look like hell. I threw on shirt lifted from Kaoru judging by the length, and a pair of pants that annoyingly were too long, granted that was a fair descriptor for 95% of the pants in my closet. By the time Die showed up, I decided we needed to stop to pick up some more beer. I’m not about to trust my luck to Tatsuro’s choices, I had too much piss weak American beer in the last two months to chance it.

A short stop later and we arrived after Tatsuro at Aiji’s. Nice enough neighbor hood more than a few musicians live in the area. Dropping a few six packs in to Aiji’s fridge, Die and I settled down, Aiji decides to put off the movie till Ryutaro arrives, given that it’s supposed to be at eight, Aiji explains that means Ryutaro would show between eight forty five, and ten. He turns on the Wii Die and Tatsuro picking up the remotes to start playing a video game.

The buzzer sounded at nine fifteen and Aiji let in the other singer. I was focused on watching, what ever the hell it is Tatsuro as Yoshi is attempting to crap out all over the track, causing Die to swerve. By swerve I mean slamming in to me every time one gets too close. Like the remote would respond better with the use of his whole body. I call out a hello and duck to avoid getting hit in the head as Die takes another corner. Chuckling as the two seemed to have decided that actually completing the course is a secondary objective to beating the crap out of each other. Tatsuro now attempting to back Die’s Princess Peach around the track backwards.

Focused on the screen I don’t expect the sudden weight of a body dropped down on to my lap, my vision obscured by white and black of another person SITTING on me, before it registered the other person is flailing about. I reached out to grab him before he falls face first in to the long hard wood table that runs the length of the sofa. 

“Whoa! Careful there”

Hands firm on the others hips to steady we get him upright, whatever he was holding had fallen to the ground missing my bare foot by a scant inch, rolling harmlessly away. I arch a brow, met by the wide eyes of the eccentric Ryutaro Arimura. The curse dies on my tongue as he squawks out a rambling apology for the offense. I have no choice but to wave it off, Ryutaro is a strange creature, he walks an eternal line between the charm of a child, and painful awkwardness of a teenager.

Everyone sorted out, Ryutaro sitting against the side of the sofa shifts and the forgotten bottle rolls back over against my foot. The label looks familiar and I remember it from the early 90’s, cheap as dirt most of the time mixed with plum wine, it has a sweet flavor. When we were all still developing the dance of courting it was a fast way to get a date loosened up, and a promise of more. It always struck me as a kind of romantic, red in color, an illusion of far more class than drinking domestic out of a bag.

“Romantic”

I’m about to make an off color comment about being a cheap date when he’s stammering, I’m not sure just what’s wrong. Maybe he’s still flustered from before. The few times I have met him, Ryutaro has always seemed very polite, and a lot more graceful.

“Cherry wine… it’s always so romantic”

I explain but he’s still got that deer in the headlights look and I give up. Pulling out my keys to cut away the foil, not entirely sure that its going to have a cork or a tin screw top as I pull it off I note it has a cork, and groping at my jeans come up empty handed. By now the others have leaned over to take a look, Ryutaro is explaining something about 1994, the attention is drawn away by Tatsuro calling Princess Peach an “apricot assed whore” as Die cuts him off and Aiji indicates the cork screw is in the kitchen.

Glasses issued to everyone we drink it too fast, laughing over Stories of the first time we got smashed. Tatsuro in between cursing at Die or Aiji interchangeably explains that the first time he had scored he had been smashed on so much wine, his afterglow and celebration was interrupted by vomiting in the girls shoes. Aiji looked mortified, and Die decides to tell him about Toshiya’s first time plastered on the sticky sweet wine. Every so often I look over to Ryutaro, the singer looks like he’s death warmed over. Distracted and on his third glass of wine before we have even finished our first. I bumped him a bit and he gives me a startled look and a shy smile.

“Oh sorry just thinking about music… we are in the studio this week,” He offers.

I can understand, some times I work till late at night. He’s lost again in thought as Aiji gets up and brings out the first round of beer. Taking a few drinks off mine we settle in, putting in a movie Aiji had picked up on a short tour a few months before in Europe. Zombie flicks that look pretty good and even better, they have subtitles, the last one, we tried with none. Thankfully zombie flicks are no brainers.

I feel a weight then against my leg, the little smudge of a singer is leaning more heavily against me. He’s already down over half the beer and I’m sure by now feeling pretty buzzed. I chuckle, when you look at Ryutaro it’s hard to remember he’s as old as the rest of us, he just has this quality to him, playfulness that translates in to his songs. There’s a melancholy dreaminess about it. As I look he’s possibly going over lyrics, he’s talking to himself in a sound less voice. Out of the corner of my eye I can see his full mouth moving, sounding out words. He seems set a rhythm to say a few lines and take a drink, a few more another drink. He has managed to get soundly ahead of the rest of us, but with Ryutaro it’s hard to tell if he’s even feeling it.

There’s that peace being around good friends and good drink. When I feel the weight of his head fall back against my thigh it’s almost comforting. I think about visiting Shinya, the way his pup settles and demands attention, my hand drops down then resting on the other mans hair. It doesn’t feel like mine, its smooth almost glassy. I can tell he adds dye every so often; it’s that shade of black that’s a little too perfect over all to be real. No lonely brown strands, an even thick gloss. I let a small lock flip up between my fingers then. The movie is good, I laugh out loud a few times.

Tatsuro is trying to guess the ending, there is one thing for sure, he is firmly rooting for the Zombies. Die relays another story about when I got locked out back stage and had to walk around to the front of the venue in my stage makeup and scared two women on vacation and sent them skittering nearly in to on coming traffic screaming “Zombie!” Settling my hand back down to keep petting the other man beside me, The line of bottles he has so carefully set up is starting to round the corner of Aiji’s table, testament to the nights activities.

“I have to pee.”

The willowy singer declares and stands almost tumbling again, I watch as he half ambles half stumbles down to the bathroom. With a resounding THUD he finds the door. I shake my head and look over to Aiji who is just as baffled.

“I didn’t figure Ryutaro for much of a drinker.”

“He does, but not quite this much. Maybe trouble at the studio? Wonder if Ken Ken isn’t working out?”

Aiji offers the only explanation, and it’s plausible. Plastic Tree have been around for what seems like forever. Since before Dir en Grey, before Mucc hell, before Perriot, a melancholic-indie-band-that-could story. I knew in that time they had rotated through at least three drummers. From what I had heard the hiring practices were odd to say the least. Buchi had been given a set list and then left for almost two months with no way to contact them. Each drummer seemed to last a while, so I doubt it was already time turn Ken Ken out. The man seemed to be just their speed, last time I had seen him he was in a ramen eating contest with Maya which is not an easy win.

Another round of beer empties out and Aiji gets up to change the movies. When I get half way to the bathroom, I realize we haven’t seen Ryutaro in a while. At the door in the narrow hallway, I can see the light is on and the door is open someone is in there. I call out a few times, no response and I wonder if we should have come looking sooner. I knock once for the slim preface of propriety and push the door open. Relieved to find Ryutaro just staring in the mirror with an odd look. There is a lot odd about the little musician, in a strange way it appeals to my protective nature as I watch him. He looks startled and I would stop and apologize except I have had about seven beers, and Peter Pan has been holed up in the bathroom for the last hour. So inching past him I unzip and do my thing. It’s strange to be so personal with someone but as anyone who’s been on a tour bus can tell you, there isn’t a damn thing the rest don’t hear. Farting, fucking, and every other embarrassing sound the human body is capable of are common knowledge. So a piss between friends is nothing.

“You’re recording again right?” I offer.

Ryutaro is looking uncomfortable, but he’s not moving and admittedly it’s getting weird as he just stares while I’m taking a leak and I try again.

“I liked that last cd; you have a DVD out soon right?”

This time he actually looks up, and the mortification on his face tells me he’s too drunk to realize what he’s actually doing. He mumbles out something by way of apology or release date it’s hard to tell.

“Yeah it was a good show, Kaoru and I went. We were back stage but I think we missed you…”

He’s blinking again and suddenly like he just came back to his mind tilts his head a bit.

“Really?”

He seems amazed that I would see a show. I wonder for a moment if it’s that I would see a show, or that I would see HIS show. I’m starting to question what’s really going on. Ryutaro who I have met a hundred times, between Aiji’s house and in band events, has been staring at me like I just bit off the head of a live bat. My live shows can be a bit intense, but I can’t imagine it would be the cause.

“Yeah… I like lives; they just have so much more emotion. Don’t you think?”

It’s a test, fishing to see if the man would give me any kind of indication as to what the hell had crawled up his ass to make him so edgy. After all he had been perfectly cheerful until he had almost sat on me, then he spent the next three hours sucking down beer after beer and saying nothing on the floor. I furrow my brow looking at him. Maybe all that thinking he was doing was really stewing; maybe he just doesn’t like me.

“Yeah”

Deflated, he just stood there, I notice he tends to fold himself down, he’s actually pretty broad. I wonder if in his beer addled mind, is he planning on intimidating me? People have done stupider things, suddenly he just shakes his head and backs up chuckling at some joke I didn’t catch.

“Sorry… I’m really tired from the studio work and that last beer was probably a bad idea.”

Just that, like nothing had happened I’m not really sure how to respond. Writing it off as just the beer talking I head back to the front room, Aiji and Die are curiously looking over at us, I shrug a bit, Ryutaro is still listing a bit from one side to the other and I think its best if he sit down and point to the sofa. There was no argument as he folded down on himself, although I know full well I’m in splash zone territory if the man suddenly vomits, a very real danger at this point, I still drop down beside him on the floor to watch the new movie.

It’s not too long before I feel a hand against my hair and I pause, I’m not sure if he’s about to grab it for leverage or what. When there is no tale tell lurching of a convulsion which comes before human sewage purging I settle back down. The singers slender fingers are just petting, and I can’t fault him, I had just done the same thing. What ever strange animosity Arimura had before he seems to have forgotten, maybe it was just the beer. I just shake my head and then relax a bit more resting my arm over his knee and go back to watching the movie. Ryutaro doesn’t stop touching so I figure he’s not to bothered as I reach out to take another drink of my beer.

The movie has settled in to a pretty good pace, but not quite as rhythmic as the snoring that has come out of Tatsuro’s mouth, apparently 5 beers is his limit. At this point he is a ball of hair and sprawled legs in the recliner. Chuckling to myself I lean a little more in to Ryutaro and feel a hand then on my arm, its warm, feels nice. The air has turned cold out side, and the humidity which plagues the city turns it from suffocating in the day to chilling by night. Slender delicate touches and I let my eyes slide over, the little singer is hunched down looking over the tattoos and I smile. I don’t mind, it’s nice when people admire them. I take pride in them and reach up then sliding a finger under the short sleeve and pull it up just a little. Not that he notices, he’s tracing each one like he’s trying to memorize them. I can’t help but smirk as the tip of his tongue sticks out between his lips, eyes in focus on the curled lines going up my shoulder.

I hazard a glance up to look at Die and Aiji who are watching it as well both with the same kind of amusement. There’s really just no other word for it, its just fucking “cute”. In his concentration, I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten I’m attached to the patterns and is lost in them. Ryutaro has an innocents that I’m not sure I have ever had, some times I feel guilty about things I think. After a gig a few years back Die and I had split a case of beer in the back of the bus and opened up a music magazine and played a game of “would you fuck?” Not sure why we bother to even play the “game” because when its all said and done, we would fuck anyone including the magazine depending on how far in to the case we were when asked.

However we all had our favorites, there was no arguing that. Seemed Die had a bit of a flame for the rather loud but petite blond from Nightmare, the similarity between Yomi and I had caused me to arch a brow. I like delicate things, things unlike me. I had seen a photo of Ryutaro, looking like some kind of lost impling crawling out of the shadows. Other bands looked glitter fucked; he looked like he had been rubbed with shadows and darkness. Little raincloud on the Technicolor scene that was oshare kei so popular in magazines. The only spread that wouldn’t have given me retinal detachment with a hangover. 

Ryutaro is still petting my arm; I can’t help but blow just to make his hair wave just a little. He looks up and before I can give him a teasing smile he’s stammering an apology. I’m too surprised at what happens next to react, there is a flailing and climbing sideways off the sofa, grabbing for his boots and stammering that he has to go, something about feeding his teeth, or brushing his cat. One moment he was calm and the next I’m staring in utter confusion with Aiji at the door he’s just vacated.

“You know, he is pretty drunk… We shouldn’t really let him go” Die offers quietly, pointedly looking at me.

“What? I didn’t do anything.”

Die gives me that leveling look, its one that I have grown to hate. Because I know what ever I’m trying to get out of. It’s not going to work.

“Fine Sunshine, but next time you’re buying the beer, not just a beer. ALL I can drink”

With a grunt I get up jamming my feet in the oversized sneakers and run down the stairs. Ryutaro was too drunk to take them and there is a chance I can still find him on the street. Once I’m out the door I can see him not that it’s hard. One AM and it’s pretty much him and four cars out there.

“HEY!”

He doesn’t even turn around and I sigh, its cold and I’m chasing down a neurotic singer in the middle of the artists district.

“HEY! RYUTARO!”

I start jogging; he is ambling in a crooked line which is a little too close to the flow of traffic for my tastes. A few more shouts and finally I catch up with him. He’s already apologizing for what I have no idea; I’m too annoyed to really give a fuck. This is the reason right here I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t have the time, or patience to sit around playing red light-green light.

I grab his hand and pull him back to the apartment, I’m drunk, I’m cold, and I’m tired of this random drama. Never one to beat around the bush; blunt is faster and leaves less room for misunderstanding.

I slam my fist against the buzzer until Aiji or one of his irritated neighbor’s buzzes us back in. In the foyer I let him go then but put myself in front of the exit, arms crossed.

“What the fuck is your problem with me?!”

Another lost look, and this is starting to annoy me, I know I shouldn’t be yelling at one am in my friend’s apartment complex, but I’m pissed.

“Don’t play that cute-ass neverland crap with me Arimura. You have spent all night practically cringing away from me. Even when I went out of my way to talk to you, all you did was walk off. So I’ll ask again, what the fuck is your problem with me?”

Nothing. He just stands there and there is a shrug, small and helpless before he speaks.

“Its, I mean, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

Now it’s my turn to look lost. He didn’t want to make me uncomfortable? What the hell is going on? I don’t like mixed signals, one moment he’s flinching like I’m going to set him on fire, the next he’s curled up like a kitten. What irritates me the most about this whole thing is that for some inexplicable reason I actually care. He’s now eyeing the door to the outside and then back to the hallways as if trying to decide. Fuck it, I grab his hand and make the decision for him tugging him unceremoniously through the hallways and back to Aiji’s apartment.

“I’ll tell you when I’m uncomfortable”

Once inside I kick off the shoes and stalk back in to the living room dragging Ryutaro along with me.

“Sit Down will you”

It was more an order at this point I’m tired, I’m drunk and if I wanted this much drama I would have gone to a gay bar. Ryutaro seems out of fight and he plops down at the foot of the sofa rubbing at his eyes. Aiji ever the diplomat, smoothes over the moment and asks him to stay the night. Die just looks amused one arm thrown around the other guitarist.

Ryutaro seems to have accepted the fate of the night and reaches for another beer; I get a nagging feeling of guilt. I shouldn’t have yelled at him, he’s tired, drunk and hell we all have bad days, the last thing he needed was to have me venting seven weeks of tour frustration and aggravation at him. I’m shitty with apologies, watching him struggle with the beer cap it’s the least I can do. 

“Here”

I take it from him and pop it open with my ring, he has a strange smile on his face, like the trick was magic and I can’t help but smile back, apparently for the moment I’m forgiven. With a heavy sigh I feel the weight against my leg as he just lays his head there, I guess some times we all just need to let go. The movie ends and another goes in, Tatsuro is snoring and drooling, I wonder for a moment if it’s safe to leave him in that position or if he’s going to grow gills, at the least leave a sizable drool mark on Aiji’s recliner.

Two more beers in and what ever shyness that Ryutaro had is gone, he leans over then pushing between my knees, surprising me. His elbows rest on my thighs as he shows me a scar on his hand from when he had tried to pet an owl. I’m not entirely sure what this has to do with anything, the confusion quickly dismissed as he attempts to show me the difference between a female and male barn owl by holding out his arms and pointing to the underside. From what I can gather it has something to do with spots. I was too busy laughing at his flapping antics and Aiji is just as amused as I am.

Ryutaro rather pleased with himself in his drunken state grinned. The group launching in to a comparison of scars, scrapes, tattoos and other stories. Die stripping half down and Aiji showing from his knuckles up over to his scalp the place where Kirito hit him with the mic stand leaving a half inch scar. My shirt was off and displaying marks, scars, raised lines. Tatsuro sawed on oblivious to it all. One more six pack of beer split between us and any chance of going home staggered out the door.

Die and I set to discussing the odd places we had found in our trip across the US the stories seemed to interested Ryutaro who chimed in.

“If I could, I would float over there. Like an ectoplasm and visit every place…”

He then demonstrated this by drifting his hand through the air and making the appropriate ghost like sound of “ooooooohhhhhh” which sent us all in to peels of laughter. Eventually, we reached the end of the beer and Aiji bid us a good night to stumble off to the back room. Pillows distributed Die claimed the floor, I settled on the sofa for a bit longer, Ryutaro now sitting beside me, he returned to leaning against me, it felt natural to put my arm around him. I wasn’t expecting when after a moment he reached up and turned my head to his there was the soft press of full lips, laced with beer and still the aftertaste of sticky sweet wine.

My hands softly settled on his waist and I pulled him down against me on the large sofa and just wrapped my arms about him. We were drunk and the kisses were sloppy, at the same time soothing. My arm wrapped around the narrow frame of my little melancholic poet.


End file.
